Surrender?

I can’t emphasize enough what a rough time I’ve had this past week. When I say that I’m ready for this chapter of my life to end so that a new, brighter one can begin, I don’t just mean that I feel trapped, because in some ways I’ve felt trapped all my life. Possibly—hopefully—I’m learning the true meaning of surrender, because I’m now at a place where I feel like if I don’t find some kind of financially suitable situation soon, it’s time to make another change and go back South to live at my mom’s.

This week my dog Savannah was diagnosed with stage three kidney disease, which means she has only a few weeks or months left on this earth. Just prior to that my best friend of twenty years emailed me to inform me that maybe we shouldn’t be friends anymore, because the friendship is unhealthy due to my feeling judged by her and my inability to take her honesty (about her opinion of the life choices I make or consider making). At the beginning of the week I dropped my cell phone in the toilet, and won’t get a replacement until next week. One of the women I sponsor has stopped emailing me. The week ended with our pipes bursting at my house, requiring that I shower at my old man’s house before our date in which I was to cook dinner for him for his birthday.

All of these things that happened, in addition to the fact that my interviewers from the week before last never contacted me again, gave cause for my private mini-meltdown yesterday, with me screaming at our four barking dogs due to the Snufalufagus-like deerhounds—three of them, totaling seven dogs in the house—who my roommates and I are keeping for the next week and a half.

Actually, these events didn’t cause me to feel this way, but my reaction to them caused my temper tantrum. My reaction now is one of the recognition of total powerlessness and unmanageability. Nothing I do can change my dog’s diagnosis and her inevitable upcoming death. Nothing can keep my best friend from her attempts to divorce me, a common reaction from her, and at this point I am letting go. I can’t undo my cell phone mishap, I can’t make anyone sober or drunk, and I can’t keep the pipes from bursting.

Regardless, I am sad. I want so badly to live in my own place with a decent, tolerable job that pays my bills. I get it. Once I had that and I didn’t appreciate it. Now I have the best place I could live in for me and for my dog in her final days, and I’m making new friendships that I hope are healthier. Out of everything that has happened this week, those two incidents—my dog and my best friend—are the ones that really upset me, and each requires their own multiple blog posts, with loads of complex feelings. But for now I’ll leave it at this: I feel really fucking sad.

Here’s yet another song from Heartless Bastards, who I listen to on repeat. My favorite lyric happens around 2:11: “For along while I thought I would break / Now I know that it just takes a long while.”

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